


ties that bind

by wearing_tearing



Category: Captain America (Movies), Marvel Cinematic Universe
Genre: Additional Warnings In Author's Note, Alternate Universe - Canon Divergence, Angst with a Happy Ending, Bucky Trained Natasha in the Red Room, Canonical Character Death, Captain America: The First Avenger, Depressed Steve Rogers, M/M, Minor Clint Barton/Natasha Romanov, Post-Captain America: The Winter Soldier, Rated For Violence, Recovery, Red String of Fate, Soulmates, Steve Rogers Has Panic Attacks, Steve Rogers-centric, Suicidal Ideation
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-08-01
Updated: 2019-08-01
Packaged: 2020-07-28 19:37:36
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 2
Words: 15,495
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/20069458
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/wearing_tearing/pseuds/wearing_tearing
Summary: Steve takes a step forward and is proud when his voice only shakes a little when he asks, “Do you know who I am?”Bucky blinks, and then his mouth twitches up in a crooked smile. “I know you are mine.”Between them, the first knot on their red string comes untangled.





	1. TIED

**Author's Note:**

> i've been writing this on and off since august 19, 2015 whenever i was feeling a bit sad. this started as an exercise in angst (aka seeing if i could write something that hurt my heart), and i'm pretty happy with how it turned out \o/
> 
> you will also never see this kind of sadness from me ever again so pls enjoy <3

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> please **check the end notes of this chapter for warnings** on these tags: **depressed steve, suicidal ideation, **and** steve has panic attacks**. take care of yourself and happy reading!

Steve Rogers thinks he knows what he’s signing up for when Dr. Erskine tells him about Project Rebirth. 

"The serum amplifies everything that is inside,” the doctor tells him. “So good becomes great; bad becomes worse.”

It seems like a good idea at the time. After being rejected over and over again by the army, after struggling through Basics, after being told he is not good enough. It’s his chance to make a difference, finally, offered to him by a German scientist and his superserum.

It seems like the _best idea_ at the time.

Even when he’s stuck inside a chamber and feeling like he’s being torn apart from the inside, his throat raw from screaming, his bones and muscles and skin rearranging themselves into something _more_ than what he was before. And when he comes out of the chamber _reborn_, his body healthy and strong and new.

Steve Rogers thinks he knows what he’s signing up for when Dr. Erskine tells him about Project Rebirth.

He doesn’t, not at all.

And he finds that out as soon as he opens his eyes and sees more than he ever has, more than anyone should.

★

Steve doesn’t know what they are at first. He only knows everyone seems to have them. 

The thin strings, bright and red, tied around their little fingers. They wrap around people’s arms and chests and legs, dragging behind them as they walk, stretching far enough away that even Steve’s eyes aren’t able to see where they end.

Some people’s red strings are more tangled than others, the thread tying itself into multiple knots. Others’ threads don’t have tangles at all, the line smooth and easy to follow. Some have more than one string, pulling them in different directions. Every string seems to lead somewhere, though.

Or to someone, as Steve finds out when he meets Grace and Gloria, two chorus girls who are part of his USO team whose red strings lead to each other. Their thread is one of the less tangled ones, just a few knots as far as Steve can see, and it pulses warm and strong whenever the two of them smile at each other.

Steve doesn’t know what they are at first. But he learns.

★

Peggy Carter is smart and beautiful and deadly. She is someone with great instincts and sharp wit and she is not afraid of making hard decisions. She has a head for war and sense of leadership, but she never forgets to be kind.

“You were meant for more than this, you know?” she says to him, eyes burning and dark.

Steve comes to like her, somewhere between watching her punch a man in the mouth for disrespecting her and her helping him go AWOL for his best friend.

Steve comes to like her, and his eyes follow the strings tied around her little finger, the color matching the shade of her favorite red lipstick.

Steve comes to like her, and wonders what the red strings means.

Because he doesn’t know what they are, not just yet.

He doesn’t know what they are, but he knows that when he looks down at his own little finger, he doesn’t see a red string at all.

★

Steve is in Chicago when realization dawns.

It is after finishing another USO Show, when he’s not wearing a costume and sporting a mask, when he’s not pretending to be something he’s not, when he’s not feeling like a puppet with its strings tied on too tight.

He gets a moment to himself, a moment away from being a dancing monkey, and decides to take a walk around the city.

People don’t recognize him. Not when he’s not wearing shorts and holding a shield and punching Hitler in the face. He’s just another person, anonymous like he used to be when walking through the streets of New York.

He can still see the red strings, but he doesn’t pay them much attention. With practice, he can almost stop seeing them altogether. If he concentrates hard enough, he can pick which ones he wants to keep looking at and which ones he doesn’t.

Steve is thinking about Grace and Gloria as he walks, their strings tangled together and pulsing with life whenever they’re close to each other. He is thinking about who the strings lead to and what it can mean to be tied to another person like that.

And then he sees.

They’re walking hand in hand, an old man and an old woman, both with white hair and showing their age on the wrinkles in their faces. They’re smiling and leaning against each other for support, taking small and slow steps as they walk and talk.

Both of them have golden wedding bands on their left hands and red strings tied to their little fingers.

Their strings connect.

They wrap around the man and the woman and circle around each other, tangles smoothed out, as if holding them both together. They are bright red, blood red, impossibly red. They are strong and thick and seemingly unbreakable. They shine and they connect and they bind.

Steve sees them and Steve learns and Steve finally understands.

And then he looks down at his own little finger and wishes he didn’t.

★

There is anger, at the beginning. It is quickly followed by sadness and then it ends with resignation.

It figures, Steve thinks. He thought he knew what he was signing up for, but maybe the price to pay for a body that won’t quit on him and kill him is that he will never have a red string tied around his finger. He will never have to follow that thread and find the person at the end of it.

It figures, Steve thinks. Now that he actually has a _chance_, now that his body isn’t fighting itself every minute of every day, now that his only worry is surviving the war so he can go back home and live his _life_, he won’t have someone to share it with.

It figures, Steve thinks. But if being healthy and being helpful and making a difference means never having that kind of connection with someone, well. That’s a price he’s willing to pay.

Or he thinks he is, until he sees Bucky again.

★

Bucky Barnes is smart and handsome and deadly. He is someone with great instincts and sharp wit and he is not afraid of making hard decisions. He has a head for war and sense of leadership, but he is loyal to a fault.

And that’s really not a good thing at the moment.

“Just go! Get out of here!” Steve yells at Bucky across the ledge, feeling the heat against his skin.

The world is on fire around them, flames high and hot and waiting to burn them alive.

Bucky is angry when he screams back, entire body shaking with rage, his eyes red and wide and wet. “No! Not without you!”

He looks like he’s one step away from jumping across the inferno and back to Steve, the anger in his eyes turning into desperation as the seconds tick by.

And Steve can’t have that. He can’t have Bucky looking like that, the same way he can’t have Bucky dying for him. So he takes a deep breath and braces himself.

He takes a deep breath and he jumps.

★

Bucky Barnes is smart and handsome and deadly. He is someone with great instincts and sharp wit and he is not afraid of making hard decisions. He has a head for war and sense of leadership, and he deserves everything the world and Steve can give him.

Steve is okay with not having someone for himself.

But he wants to rage and scream and destroy something with his bare hands when he looks down at Bucky’s little finger and doesn’t see a red string at all.

★

There is anger, at the beginning. It is quickly followed by sadness and then it ends with fierce determination.

Steve and Bucky might not have a red string that connects them to someone, but they have each other. 

Steve and Bucky might not have a red string that connects them to someone, but Steve knows he’ll do anything in his power to always be at Bucky’s side and vice-versa.

Steve and Bucky might not have a red string that connects them to someone, but that ends up not being a bad thing.

At least not in the end.

★

When Bucky falls, him not having a string tied around his finger doesn’t matter. Steve feels himself break into a thousand little pieces anyway.

And when Steve follows, him not having a string tied around his finger doesn’t matter. He’s just glad he’s not leaving his soulmate behind.

★

Steve Rogers thinks he knows what he’s signing up for when Dr. Erskine tells him about Project Rebirth.

He doesn’t, not at all.

He finds that out as soon as he opens his eyes, seventy years in the future, and sees more than he ever has, more than he ever thought he would.

And that includes the red string tied around his little finger.

★

It curls around his wrist and up his arm, around his chest and waist and hips, around his ankles and thighs. It drags around his shoulders and wraps itself like a noose around his neck.

Steve’s red string is almost entirely made out of tangled knots.

He doesn’t know whether to laugh or cry, so he does neither.

He also doesn’t go searching for the person the thread leads to.

Because the thing about the future is that everyone Steve has ever met and loved are either dying or already dead.

He doesn’t have enough space in his life for things other than grief and anger and fighting. He’s not even sure he has space in his life left for _living_. He doesn’t want to add someone to that equation, not when he’s still cut open and bleeding over everyone he’s lost.

So Steve doesn’t follow his thread. He does not want to know where the string ends. He does not want to see the face of the person who is meant for him.

★

The world needs saving again, so Steve focuses on fighting.

His new team is made of strangers, dangerous people he has never met, whose skills he doesn’t know. It brings the sharp pain of losing the Commandos and Bucky to the surface, and he channels that into killing the threat.

“He has an army called the Chitauri,” Thor explains. “They're not of Asgard or any world known.”

“An army,” Steve says, tone dry. “From outer space.”

Steve doesn’t know whether to laugh or cry, so he does neither. A distant part of him thinks that Bucky would have loved this, but he doesn’t let that train of thought go on for too long. 

When Fury comes to them with a pack of vintage Captain America cards covered in blood and tells them Coulson is dead, Steve thinks about all the soldiers that never came back from war. He thinks about their strings bleeding out of color as they bled out to death, red turning to gray, life giving place to death.

Steve thinks and Steve keeps killing and Steve hopes it all ends soon enough.

And it does, with Tony Stark almost sacrificing himself for all of them.

Steve can keep track of the team through everyone’s red strings, and he sees Tony’s two threads stretch impossibly wide, almost to the breaking point, after he disappears through a hole in the sky. Steve doesn’t think the strings can even _do_ that, can break, but for a second he _fears_.

But then Tony is falling, spiraling back down to Earth, and the Hulk catches him before he can hit the ground.

That’s when Steve learns, during the battle and after the victory, that he might not know these people, but he can trust them to have his back in a fight.

The thought doesn’t comfort him as much as it should.

★

All of the Avengers have knotted red strings tied to their little fingers and wrapped around their bodies.

Bruce Banner’s string starts smooth and gets tangled along the way, dragging through the floor and continuing on for so long that it disappears from Steve’s sight.

Thor’s is much the same way, and Steve wonders if it leads to the woman Thor calls Lady Jane or if it ends up somewhere else.

The red string that connects Tony to Pepper Potts resembles Steve’s, a mess of knots and tangles. Steve can tell a few of the knots have been smoothed out, but that whatever awaits Tony and Pepper in the future won’t be as simple to solve. He doesn’t know where the other strings Tony and Pepper have on their little fingers lead to, but he hopes it is to someone who makes they both happy.

Natasha Romanoff and Clint Barton are tied to each other. Their string is red and bright and _alive_, and Steve catches himself staring at it from time to time. It is also almost entirely free of tangles. Steve can’t help but smile a little at knowing that whatever hardships Natasha and Clint still have to go through, the worst has already passed.

Steve also can’t help but wish he felt that same little spark of happiness when he stares down at his _own_ little finger.

Steve can’t help but wish, but he doesn’t feel anything at all.

★

Steve leaves New York behind.

There are too many memories, too much destruction, the landscape ruined and broken and reflecting what Steve feels like on the inside. It’s not a difficult decision for him to make. Home isn’t home anymore, hasn’t been since the early forties.

Home fell from a train and died in the snow, cold and forgotten.

It helps that the Avengers go their separate ways after the Battle of New York is over instead of staying in active duty. They all know they’ll assemble if the world needs them again, but each of them have other work that needs to be done.

They still keep in touch, as much as they can.

It’s harder to contact Thor, but he always sends them all a text message from Dr. Foster’s phone letting them know when he’s Earthbound. Tony calls whenever he remembers there’s a world outside of his lab, Bruce’s voice calm and soothing in the background as they talk.

Out of all of them, Steve is closest to Natasha and Clint. It’s easy, when they work for the same agency and go on missions together. It’s easy, when they know what it’s like to come from nothing. It’s easy, when they’ve been fighting their whole lives, one way or another.

★

Washington, D.C., is different.

It’s not attached to decades of memories and it doesn’t make him hurt when he walks through the streets. But it also doesn’t make him happier and it doesn’t make him feel more settled than he was in New York.

Steve wonders if he’ll ever stop feeling adrift, and then shakes his head at himself.

He’s a man out of time, after all.

Natasha and Clint visit, sometimes alone and other times together. They crash in his apartment after coming back from missions, stop by on their way somewhere else, check in to see how he’s doing. They also stock his fridge and help him catch up on everything he’s missed, from movies to music to world history.

They make him feel a little less alone.

★

Natasha asks him, once.

They’re en route to some little town in Europe, already armored and armed, sitting on the quinjet and waiting for the green light so they can jump. Clint is piloting, confident and alert, gaze focused ahead of him.

Steve is staring down, eyes drawn to Natasha’s hand.

“Why do you do that?” she asks, voice low enough that only Steve can hear her.

Steve looks up slowly, doing his best to keep his expression blank. “Do what?”

“Stare.” Natasha’s face is a mask, eyes shuttered and giving away nothing. “You stare at my hands and you smile.”

“You have pretty nails,” Steve tries to joke, but it falls flat like most of his jokes do nowadays.

“You are a terrible liar,” Natasha tells him, letting her lips twitch anyway.

Steve shrugs. He’s a good liar when he wants to be, when he _needs_ to be. He just doesn’t bother with it right now. Not when he’s talking to Natasha. He knows she’ll end up uncovering whatever lies he tells her, so it seems like a wasted effort.

“You don’t have to tell me,” Natasha says, and in that moment she sounds a lot older than she looks. “But sometimes it’s good to talk.”

Steve swallows, letting his eyes fall to the red string wrapped around Natasha’s shoulders, the color almost matching her hair.

“I draw,” is what Steve says, except that he doesn’t.

Not anymore.

He hasn’t since fighting aliens and destroying half of the city he grew up in. He hasn’t since all he can do is trace the lines of Peggy’s eyes and the curls of the Commandos’ smiles and shape of Bucky’s hands.

Natasha gives him a look that tells him she knows he’s not telling the truth. But she doesn’t push, even if she raises an eyebrow when she catches Steve staring again.

The next time Natasha asks, though, Steve finds himself telling her.

★

The thing about Natasha and Clint is that they are a secret.

Steve realizes that pretty quickly, and it takes nothing away from him to keep his mouth shut. They deserve as much happiness as they can find, especially in their line of work. Espionage makes it harder for people to build and keep relationships, to trust in each other.

Living in the shadows is not just for anyone.

Clint is the one who confronts him about it, when they figure out that Steve knows. He shows up at Steve’s apartment late at night, letting himself in through the window. He presses a finger to his lips, telling Steve to keep quiet.

Steve raises an eyebrow at him.

When Clint talks, he doesn’t speak.

_You know_, Clint signs, not bothering to elaborate.

Steve was surprised when he found out Clint was deaf, his mind taking him back to his days before the serum. But he finds that he enjoys having the opportunity to sign whenever Clint decides he doesn’t want to bother with spoken words.

_That you and Natasha are together?_ Steve asks anyway.

Clint presses his lips together and nods.

_I haven’t told anyone_, Steve tells him. _And you have my word that I won’t_.

_Good_, Clint signs. _Natasha likes you. She wouldn’t want to have to hurt you_.

Steve smiles at that, small and quick. _Want to watch Dog Cops?_

Clint perks up. _Hell yeah. Just put on subtitles. I left my hearing aids at home_.

The thing about Natasha and Clint is that they are a secret.

So when Clint gets hurt during a solo op, Natasha isn’t the first know.

She gets the call when she and Steve are at his place, a bowl of popcorn between them, watching TV. She goes slightly tense when she answers her phone, shoulders drawn tight. Steve almost doesn’t notice anything is wrong. He thinks he does only because Natasha feels comfortable enough around him to let him see it.

“Clint’s been hurt,” she says, sliding her phone back into her pocket and getting up. “I have to go.”

Steve turns off the TV and stands. “SHIELD hospital?”

Natasha looks up at him, eyebrows furrowed. “You don’t have to come with me.”

“Clint is my friend,” Steve says, grabbing his jacket from the back of the couch and slipping it on. “And so are you. Are we taking my motorcycle?”

Natasha is quiet for a few seconds, the surprise in her eyes quickly disappearing as she composes herself. “I’m driving.”

Steve throws her the keys.

He also sits down next to her as they wait for news on Clint, his legs stretched in front of him and crossed at the ankles. He keeps his eyes on Natasha’s little finger, watching as the string pulses as the minutes tick by.

“Why do you do that?” Natasha asks him, an echo of a conversation they’ve already had.

“Because.”

Steve doesn’t say it’s because he’ll know if Clint doesn’t make it. He’ll know because the string will bleed out of color and turn grey and die.

“What do you see?” Natasha murmurs, eyes boring into Steve. “When you look down at my hands.”

Steve doesn’t say anything, just looks back, his jaw clenched. Natasha’s mind is working as they stare at each other, gears turning.

“It’s how you found out,” she guesses. “About me and Clint.”

“Yes,” Steve admits, because he knows it won’t make a difference.

“What do you see?” Natasha asks again, barely a whisper.

And Steve finds himself telling her. “What do you know about the red string of fate?”

★

It’s one of the first things Steve searches for, after he learns how to use the internet.

And isn’t it wonderful? Having that amount of knowledge at his fingertips, just waiting to be found.

He types _red strings_ into the search bar, heart beating rapidly in his chest. What he finds just confirms what he already knows. What he finds makes his chest hurt and his throat tight and his eyes sting.

_Soulmates_.

That’s where the red strings lead to.

★

“I’m a spy, Steve,” Natasha tells him, licking her lips. “I know a lot of things.”

“You and Clint,” Steve tells her. “Your strings connect to each other.”

Natasha’s breath hitches and she closes her eyes, her lips pressed tight together. That’s as unguarded as Steve’s ever seen her, and he doesn’t hesitate before taking her hand in his and squeezing it.

“He’ll be fine,” Steve promises, thumb resting just above her pinky, the string bright and red against Natasha’s skin. “I’d be able to see it otherwise.”

“You are not meant for me,” Natasha whispers, and when she opens her eyes Steve can see the pain behind them.

“I’m sorry?”

“Someone told me that, once,” Natasha answers. “Long ago. _You are not meant for me_. When I asked him why, he told me our strings lead to different paths. I didn’t understand him, not then.”

Steve’s heart misses a beat inside his chest, like it did back when he was five foot nothing and weighed less than a feather.

“You knew someone who could…?”

He didn’t think that was possible, for another person to be able to do what he does. But he also didn’t think aliens were real and that once he crashed a plane into the arctic he would survive, and he was proven wrong about both of those things.

“It was the serum, wasn’t it?” Natasha asks, already connecting the dots. “It made you able to do it. To see it.”

Steve nods, blood rushing through his ears. “Was your friend…?”

“He wasn’t my friend,” Natasha replies, shaking her head. “There is no place for friends in the Red Room, only comrades. But he was— he is _enhanced_. Not in the same way as you, I don’t think, but—”

“Close enough,” Steve finishes.

“Close enough.” Natasha nods, and then takes a deep breath. “Clint and I—”

“Are soulmates,” Steve completes, lips curling up at the look on Natasha’s face.

She lets out a breathy laugh, quiet and incredulous. “It’s good to know, I think. That I made the right choice.”

“To date him?” Steve frowns.

“To _marry_ him,” Natasha corrects, eyes dancing as Steve gapes. “And to let him convince me to leave the KGB and Russia behind.”

Steve opens and closes his mouth a few times, not really knowing what to say. “I’m glad you found each other,” is what he ends up with, thumb tracing circles over Natasha’s knuckles.

“Yes.” Natasha squeezes his hand. “Me too.”

★

“You two are taking this better than I thought.”

“I grew up in the circus.” Clint winces and holds his ribs, slowly lowering himself down on the couch with Steve’s help. “Hell, we fought aliens last year and I got turned into the puppet of an actual _god_. You being able to see people’s soulmates isn’t exactly a surprise.”

“Thanks, Clint,” Steve says, smiling a little.

“No problem,” Clint replies, slumping back on the cushions and letting out a groan. “Fuck, that hurts.”

“Here.” Natasha waves a bottle of painkillers in front of Clint’s face, a cup of water in her other hand. “I don’t want to listen to you complain.”

“Aw, Nat.”

“Hush,” Natasha says, swiping Clint’s hair away from his bruised face.

Steve watches them with the ghost of a smile playing at his lips, but tears his gaze away when Natasha bends down to kiss Clint, taking the chance to look around the apartment. As much as Natasha and Clint hang around his apartment, this is the first time Steve’s been invited back to a place that is considered theirs.

He knows this is just one of the many places they keep around the city, around the world. Their home is probably tucked away in the middle of nowhere, away from friends and enemies alike, safe and secluded from the world. But Steve has to admit he’s flattered that they’ve decided to share this one with him.

Steve showed them they could trust him to keep their secret, and now they’re trusting him with another part of themselves.

“So,” Clint starts, turning his head to Steve. “The red string of fate.”

Steve blinks. “Yes?”

“Do you have one?”

“Clint,” Natasha says, quiet and threatening, when she sees Steve tense.

“It’s okay,” Steve tells her, even though it’s not.

But he showed them they could trust him to keep their secret, and he knows Clint and Natasha will do the same for him and the things he wishes to keep in the dark.

“Was it Peggy?” Natasha asks, tilting her head.

The smile Steve gives her is more of a grimace, heart tugging in his chest. “I liked her,” Steve says. “But she was not meant for me.”

“Steve,” Natasha murmurs, stretching her leg in front of her. The tip of her boot touches the side of Steve’s leg, a silent gesture of support.

“Was it…” Clint trails off, the corners of his lips turning down.

Steve isn’t smiling at all when he shakes his head and says, “Bucky didn’t have a string.”

Steve thinks it would be funny to see the stricken looks on Natasha and Clint’s faces at any other moment other than this. 

Especially when he goes ahead and adds, “Neither did I.”

As it is, he can’t bring himself to find any humor in any of this.

“But you do now,” Natasha says after a few tense minutes of silence. It’s a statement, not a question, and Steve finds himself glad when all he has to do is nod.

“Did you ever try seeing it where it goes?” Clint asks, voice low.

“I’m not sure I want to,” Steve admits, his hands curling into fists.

“Steve.”

Steve looks at Natasha, sitting on the couch with Clint. His feet are on her lap, her hands resting on top of his ankles. He’s wearing socks with white spiderwebs on them, a contrast to the arrow necklace Natasha has around her neck.

“Yeah?”

“If you ever decide to do it, let us know,” Natasha tells him. “We’ll help you.”

“Thanks, guys,” Steve says, even though he knows he won’t take them up on it.

And he doesn’t.

Not for another year.

★

Washington, D.C., is different.

It’s not attached to decades of memories and it doesn’t make him hurt when he walks through the streets. After a year, it doesn’t exactly make him happier but it does make him feel more settled than he was in New York.

It’s also where he meets Sam Wilson.

It’s five in the morning the first time Steve sees him, jogging and sweating as the sky turns orange above them. He has a string tied around his little finger, but it is not red. It is grey and dull and lifeless.

It is the string of someone who lost the one meant for them. 

It is a terrible loss, Steve knows, but he is comforted by the sight of another string wrapped around Sam’s finger, red and alive and there.

That’s what makes Steve want to talk to him, to reach out to the man whose soulmate isn’t here anymore, but who still has someone out there they’ve yet to meet. It’s what makes him run just as the sun is rising. It’s what makes him push himself faster.

It’s what makes him run past Sam and say, with a hint of a smile, “On your left.”

It’s one of the best decisions Steve has made since he woke up, if he says so himself.

Steve finds kindness in Sam, a kindred spirit, someone who has suffered and who knows loss. He finds someone he wishes to spend more time with, someone he can relate to, which is not something Steve can say about a lot of people in this day and age.

“We all got the same problems,” Sam tells him with a knowing look. “Guilt, regret.”

And Steve knows. After attending the VA meeting, no part of him can deny that. And as he glances down at Sam’s lifeless string and listens to Sam tell him about the person he lost, his wingman, Riley, he doesn’t want to.

“But you’re happy now, back in the world?” Steve finds himself asking.

He desperately wants to know if a person can be happy again when it feels like the world is crumbling around them. He wants to know if it’s possible for someone to pick themselves up from under ashes and dust and rise again.

Sam smiles at him and says, “Hell yeah.”

Steve isn’t sure he believes him, not when he can see a flicker of pain behind Sam’s eyes. But he still gets Sam’s number, he still makes plans for them to go running together in the mornings, and he still tells Sam he’ll try to make it to another one of the meetings.

To say Sam is a surprise is an understatement, but he is welcomed. He even passes Natasha and Clint’s background checks, and Steve doesn’t fight the urge to roll his eyes when both of them give him thumbs up and congratulate him on making a friend.

Because that’s what Sam is.

He is a friend when Steve needs friends the most.

★

There is a mission.

Steve, Natasha, and the rest of their STRIKE team are called in by Fury to execute it. Clint is absent, on a solo undercover op of his own. The target is a mobile satellite launch platform that belongs to SHIELD, with twenty-five mercenaries holding techs and one SHIELD officer as hostages. 

There is a mission.

It’s supposed to be easy, and then it turns out it’s not.

Steve suspects that might have something to do with it not being a mission at all, but _two_.

“You’re saving SHIELD intel,” Steve says, eyes glued to the monitors in front of him as Natasha types away at a keyboard.

“Whatever I can get my hands on,” Natasha replies, glancing up at him. “Your mission was to rescue hostages, and you’ve done that. I have my own orders.”

“From Fury,” Steve says, but they both know he means _not from me_.

Natasha don’t say confirm or deny that, not that she needs to. “I don’t know what it all says or why we need it, if it makes a difference. Only that I’m supposed to get it.”

“Not really,” Steve says, tone flat.

“I know what I’m doing,” Natasha tells him, and as if she’s reading his mind she adds, “I’m not going to jeopardised the operation. I’m good at what I do.”

“Too good,” Steve says, and then shakes his head when he sees the lines around Nat’s eyes go tight. “You’re not that one I’m angry at.”

“I’m sure Fury will love to hear what you have to say once we head back.”

Steve snorts.

And that’s when one of the mercenaries throws a grenade at them.

★

Steve and Natasha might not know what is in the flashdrive she secures for SHIELD, but someone else does. They know it’s important and they know it’s valuable and they know they must get it.

So they send someone for it and, in the process, turn Steve’s world upside down.

★

Steve knows something isn’t right as soon as he parks his motorcycle. He can’t be sure of what it is, but the hairs on the back of his neck and his arms stand up. He can’t be sure of what it is, but he knows it is nothing good.

He chances a look down at the red string tied to his little finger, eyes following the tangled mess of knots and ties up his forearm and down his chest. He can’t see it unless he’s in front of a mirror, but he knows the thread still wraps tight around his neck.

It feels like it is close to choking him.

The _wrongness_ inside of him only grows as he climbs up the stairs to his building, his hearing picking up the faint sounds of music coming from his apartment. He doesn’t need Kate, his neighbor, to tell him he left the stereo on. Not because it’s obvious, but because he didn’t. He stops short of opening his front door, thinking better of exposing himself that way when he doesn’t have his shield in hand and deciding to climb in through the window.

Steve doesn’t know what he is hoping to find, but Nick Fury sprawled on one of his living room chairs isn’t it. Fury’s string is red and straining, flickering, and that alone tells Steve that things not only are bad, but they’re about to get worse.

_Ears everywhere_, say the words on Fury’s phone screen. 

It makes rage burn hot and bright inside of Steve’s chest. He should have known better, really. His life isn’t his own anymore, hasn’t been since he got his veins pumped full of serum and made himself a supersoldier.

What follows, though, makes his inside grow cold.

_SHIELD compromised_, Fury types and shows him.

Steve’s first thought is of Clint, away in a city somewhere, without knowing his world is about to come down around him. His second thought is of Natasha, away in one of her apartments in the city, without knowing her world is about to come down around her. His third thought isn’t a thought at all.

It’s something else entirely when he hears the shots, when he hears Fury scream, when he hears the thud of Fury’s body falling to the floor. He only sees a glint of metal through his window before he’s dragging Fury to safety, before he’s being handed the same flashdrive he saw Natasha save intel to.

And doesn’t _that_ make Steve want to laugh, bitterness clogging his throat. Because of course this is what they’re after, whoever it is that shot Fury. 

But Steve doesn’t have time for laughter as Kate, who doesn’t seem to be _just_ his neighbor, bursts into his apartment, gun in hand. He doesn’t have time for laughter as he jumps through his window and to the building across the street, shield protecting him from the broken glass. Even less so as he runs through corridors and breaks down doors. And especially not as he jumps into a roof and throws his shield at the man running in front of him.

The man, who stops and holds the shield with his metal arm like it’s nothing.

The man, who stares at Steve above the mask covering his mouth, eyes blue-gray and dead.

The man, who throws the shield back at Steve and disappears into the night.

But not before Steve can see the red string tied around his little finger, curling around his wrist and up his arm, around his chest and waist and hips, around his ankles and thighs. It drags around his shoulders and wraps itself like a noose around his neck.

The man’s red string is almost entirely made out of tangled knots.

Steve doesn’t know whether to laugh or cry, so he does neither.

He just stares after the shadow of the man whose red string connects to Steve’s own.

★

Steve remembers dying.

He remembers Peggy’s voice cutting off mid-sentence, leaving only static. He remembers picking up his shield, the straps worn against his arm. He remembers lying on the floor and closing his eyes, cold metal at his back.

He remembers the crash and the water and the ice.

He remembers freezing to death, slowly and painfully and just like he planned to.

That’s what he feels like, as he stands on the roof of a building, eyes glued to the place where half of his soul once was.

It feels like dying, all over again.

Steve would laugh and he would cry and he would rage, but he’s not feeling much of anything. Not anymore.

★

“Tell me about the shooter,” Natasha demands, eyes wet and bright as she stares through glass and down to the man that means more to her than she’s willing to admit.

Steve almost doesn’t hear her through the blood ringing in his ears. He just stares straight ahead, eyes fixed on the reflection of the red thread wrapped around his body instead of what’s going on behind the glass.

He stares, and sees the red noose around his neck.

It feels like it’s choking him. Just like he knew it would.

“He was fast,” Steve answers, voice low and far away. “Strong. Had a metal arm.”

He stares, and sees the red noose around his neck.

He stares, but he doesn’t miss Natasha’s minute flinch.

He stares, and then he says, “He was my soulmate.”

In the background, they can hear the beep of a flatline.

★

Steve remembers wishing he had a soulmate, way back when.

He remembers anger and sadness and resignation.

He remembers, in the end, being glad it didn’t matter.

He also remembers, with crystal clarity, his mother; her hand swiping his bangs back from his forehead when he was six years old, her touch warm and kind, her accented voice telling him to be careful what he wishes for.

Because he just might get it.

★

“Natasha.”

Natasha turns to him, both standing in the middle of a hospital hallway. Her hair flips over her shoulder, her face back to her usual mask. Steve can see through it, though. He’s learned how.

So it’s not hard to hear the sharp edge in her voice, quick and swift like knives. “You want my help.”

Steve swallows, hands coming to rest at his hips. “I need my friend,” is all that he says.

It’s all that he has, really.

It seems to be enough, because Natasha nods.

And she stands still, when Steve grabs her hand and pulls her into a hug. “Thank you,” Steve murmurs into her hair and then lets her go.

But not before he presses something into her palm, her fingers curling around it and gripping it tight.

Natasha stares at him, long and hard. “Don’t thank me yet.”

★

Alexander Pierce has one of the smoothest red strings Steve has ever seen. It still wraps around his arms and torso and legs, but aside from one or two knots, it is free of tangles.

Steve doesn’t let his eyes linger. He also keeps the bitterness from showing on his face. 

It is hard, but he manages.

“Did you know your apartment was bugged?” Pierce asks him, face impassive.

“I did, because Nick told me.”

And so did Natasha and Clint, the first time they stopped by his apartment after a mission and did a sweep of the place. It is why they prefer sign language to speaking. 

Steve doesn’t tell him that.

“Did he tell you he was the one who bugged it?”

Steve doesn’t say anything, doesn’t blink. 

It is hard, but he manages.

His bland expression threatens to crack when Pierce tells him about the prevailing theory that Fury’s death is connected to the last mission he and Natasha had. The one with the mobile satellite launch platform. The one with the pirates.

The one with the little flashdrive wrapped with a piece of paper he pressed into Natasha’s hand.

Not only does Pierce tell Steve the theory that Fury’s death is connected to it, but that it is a result of an unsuccessful sale of classified intelligence. Steve listens, and he files away all information Pierce gives him. He knows Natasha will make use of it, somehow.

But he doesn’t offer anything back.

Nothing more than what he has to, at least.

_Ears everywhere_.

_SHIELD compromised_.

Not even when Pierce looks at him and says, “Captain, somebody murdered my friend and I'm gonna find out why. Anyone gets in my way, they're gonna regret it. Anyone.”

Steve nods. “Understood.”

★

Sometimes, people forget what Steve is capable of. 

They know he's strong and they know he's skilled, but they take for granted his intelligence. It is as if they've forgotten to see past the perfect soldier and to the man. 

But then Steve remembers that to these people, the good man never existed. 

Sometimes, people forget what Steve is capable of. 

So when he finds himself in an elevator full of people, the reflex of his red string a stark contrast on the glass, he knows what's going to happen. 

He knows.

And he fights.

★

Later, Natasha is the one who finds him. Steve doesn’t know how but he’s not surprised. She’s always been good at uncovering things that weren’t meant to be found.

“You’re a fugitive,” she says in favor of a greeting, the tight lines around her eyes betraying the flat tone of her voice.

Steve ignores her. Despite her attempt at humor, they’re both not in the mood for jokes.

“Do you have it?” Steve asks, taking his hands from his pockets so he can sign, “_What I gave you_?”

Natasha gives him a small nod. “It’s safe.”

“And Clint?”

Natasha takes a deep breath, shoulders moving with it. She looks calm, but Steve knows better. “On his way to being safe,” she replies, and then offers, “Thank you for the warning.”

“Don’t thank me yet,” Steve says, mirroring her words from before.

Natasha looks at him, through him, a ghost of a smile on her lips. “I won’t. How did you know?”

“Fury. Before...”

Natasha doesn’t look at him, gaze focusing on a spot over Steve’s shoulder. It doesn’t matter. In between friends, Natasha can’t hide her hurt the same way Steve can’t hide his anger.

“He’s the one who gave it to me. I don’t know why,” Steve explains before she can ask. “Do you know what’s in it?”

“Not yet.” Natasha shakes her head. “And I don’t know why they killed him for it.”

“You also don’t know why he sent you to get it.”

“Sometimes asking questions is the same thing as holding a gun to your own head.”

“Safer not knowing,” Steve mutters, and then looks up. “Fury knew.”

Natasha regards him for a few seconds, holding herself still and stiff. Like she’s bracing for something.

“Are you going to tell me,” Steve starts, keeping his voice low and without any hint of accusation, “how you know who killed him?”

Steve might not be a spy, but he’s observant. It comes from years of being sickly and small and invisible, of disappearing into the background, of not mattering except for one person. He’s used to watching, used to paying attention. When Natasha flinched at Steve’s description of the man, he knew.

“I could make a spy out of you yet,” is what Natasha answers, evading the question.

Steve lets her, but only for a minute. “We both know I’m a terrible liar.”

Natasha sighs, buying herself time.

Steve lets her, but only because he’s doing the same. Whatever it is she’s about to tell him, he knows it won’t be anything good.

“Most of the intelligence community doesn’t believe he exists,” Natasha says. “But the ones that do? They call him the Winter Soldier.”

Steve listens as she tells him about the last five decades, the assassinations, the target and the bullet scar on her stomach. Steve listens and his insides grow cold. Steve listens and he wishes he didn’t have to.

But as he’s learning: wishes have no place in his world.

“Going after him is a dead end,” Natasha continues. “He’s a ghost story.”

Steve lets himself smile at her, brittle and bitter, and raises a hand. “Not to me.”

He knows Natasha can’t see it, but the red string is there: knotted and heavy and choking him, little by little.

She stares at his fingers anyway. “No, not to you.”

“We should get Clint,” Steve says, dropping his hand.

“We should,” Natasha agrees. She lifts her own hand, then, holding the flashdrive between her fingers. “But not before we find out what’s in this.”

Steve frowns. “How will we do that?”

And he should be used to it by now, but when Natasha smiles the hairs on the back of his neck stand on end.

★

Natasha is a riddle wrapped in a mystery and Steve is glad to call her a friend.

He watches her from under the thick-framed glasses she made him wear, her slim fingers typing away as they hide in plain sight, her hair falling around her face. 

They are on a timeline, but Steve does not rush her.

He stands at her back at the Apple store, eyes scanning their surroundings, ready to run if they need to. His fingers tap against his thigh, a nervous beat and the only form of showcasing his anxiety that he allows himself.

The reflection on the computer screen shows him his string, red and tight and choking him.

“Nat?” Steve asks, arm pressed against her shoulder.

“The person who developed this is slightly smarter than me,” Natasha tells him, glancing up at him for a second. “Slightly.”

Steve smiles, a twitch of lips, but keeps his thoughts to himself. He knows better than to comment. “Can you read the file?”

“No,” Natasha admits with some reluctance. “But I can find out where it came from.”

When _New Jersey_ flashes on the screen, it gives Steve only a fraction of relief.

★

“Where did Captain America learn how to steal a car?”

Steve’s mind flashes back to darkness and ashes and the taste of blood in his mouth. He remembers his shaking fingers as Gabe taught him how to hotwire a car, remember Morita’s shouts telling them to hurry the fuck up, remembers the warmth of Bucky’s back against his side, providing cover.

Steve knows he will never forget the all consuming fear of war, the atrocity of it, the things he had to do and learn to survive.

Steve turns to Nat, a humourless smile on his lips as he answers, “Nazi Germany. Now take your feet off the dash.”

“Rude,” Natasha murmurs, gaze turning back to the road ahead of them. “Turn right.”

Steve blinks. “That’s not the way.”

“We’re taking a detour,” Natasha informs him, and at Steve’s inquiring look she adds, “to pick up my husband.”

“Ah.” Steve nods, obediently taking the next right turn. “He knows where to wait for us?”

“It’s not the first time we’ve been on the run,” Natasha says, a fond smile gracing her lips.

Steve does not ask. He finds that with Natasha, that is the best course of action. “Good for me, then.”

“Yes, good for you.” Natasha turns on her seat so she’s facing him, her eyes falling to Steve’s hand on the wheel. “Not all ties are binding, you know.”

Steve swallows, stomach turning sour. He doesn’t glance at his hands, doesn’t dare look at his red tangled string. “I know,” he says. “I’ve seen it.”

Natasha regards him with a calm and blank expression, and Steve knows she’s cataloguing every twitch of his jaw, every downturn of his lips, every flick of his eyes.

“Lindsay from IT likes you,” Natasha says, and Steve almost swerves into a tree. When he looks back at Natasha, she’s grinning at him, a rare sight that warms Steve’s heart.

“Don’t start,” Steve tells her, shaking his head. “I don’t need your help. Not with that.”

“You’re doing fine on your own, old man?”

“It’s kind of hard to find someone with shared life experience,” Steve sighs, eyes briefly flickering to his pinky finger and heart turning cold with dread. 

★

Steve wonders, not for the first time, if this is all a test.

He stares down at his own little string, knotted and tangled and blood red, and wonders if following it is the same as jumping on a grenade.

Steve wonders, and knows it is worse than that could ever be.

★

“Thanks for the pick up.” Clint groans as he climbs into the backseat, bandaged and scraped to hell.

Steve keeps his eyes trained on the road, but he doesn’t miss the hand Natasha sneaks between the seats. Clint reaches forward and wraps his fingers around hers. It is a small reassurance, but Steve knows how much it means.

Steve remembers callused fingers curled around his wrist, counting his every heartbeat, once upon a time.

“You should thank Nat,” Steve says with a small smile, glad his friends are together again. “She’s the navigator.”

Nat rolls her eyes, but Steve doesn’t miss the minute twitch of her lips. He also lets out a small chuckle when Clint shifts forward and smacks a loud kiss to her cheek, right before slumping back into his seat with a groan.

“Idiot,” Natasha murmurs, fondness coloring her tone.

“So,” Clint starts, clutching at his ribs. “Where are we going?”

“To the past,” Steve replies, and wonders when his ghosts will stop coming back to haunt him.

★

Camp Leigh was Steve’s future, once.

It was his every dream come true.

It was everything he had ever wanted and more.

When Steve stops in front of the old rusty gates, Natasha and Clint by his side, he longs for the person he was then. Not for thin skin and fragile bones, but for his innocence, his naivete, his black and white view of the world.

It is all gone now. Left behind with the ashes and ruins of war.

They walk past the grounds that made Steve’s life once. It is familiar, yet strange all at once. Steve can see himself in his old uniform, helmet too big for his head, running past to sights long lost. It makes the ever-present ache in his heart grow deeper.

There is a lock around the door that will leads them to their destination, and Steve does not hesitate to break it with his shield. Natasha and Clint follow behind him, as silent as the still air that surrounds them.

Steve pauses briefly at the sight of Peggy’s picture on one of the walls. She looks as he remembers her: fierce and beautiful.

Natasha’s hand on his back brings him back to the present. She and Clint don’t say anything, but they crowd closer as they make their way down the hall. Their support is what helps Steve keep going.

It is surprisingly easy to find the secret office hidden behind one of the heavy shelves. It is even easier for Steve to slide the door open with a hand, stepping aside to let Natasha work at the password.

“Creepy,” Clint mumbles as an elevator reveals itself to them.

“What did you expect?” Natasha raises an eyebrow at him. “A welcome committee?”

“Balloons would be nice.”

Steve shakes his head and lets them argue, his body thrumming with tension as they go down. He clenches his jaw when the elevator pings, readying himself for whatever it is they are about to find.

The room comes alive as they walk through it, revealing rows of machines and obsolete tech. A big computer is set up in the middle of the room. The only sign this place has been used is the lack of dust on the computer table and the USB port resting on top of it.

“Convenient,” Natasha murmurs, grabbing the flashdrive from her hoodie pocket. As soon as she connects it, the machines spring into motion.

The words _Initiate System_ show up in green script on the computer screen. Steve watches in trepidation as Natasha types _Yes_ and hits enter.

“Shall we play a game?” Natasha asks, a slight smirk curving at her lips.

“Not the time, Nat,” Clint whispers, lips pressed thing as a face starts forming on the screen.

★

The Winter Soldier is not the only ghost in Steve’s life.

Steve is surrounded by memories of the past, weighing down on his shoulders. People he has lost, loved, shared his life with. He is used to it. 

Zola’s face and his voice coming from the speaker almost knock Steve to the ground. His heart turns cold, ice rising up from the tips of his toes up to his neck. He barely hears Zola’s ghost recite their ranks and identities.

All he can think of is _no_ and _not again_ and _please_.

Steve lost his life and his heart to this war. He doesn’t think he can bare it to do it again.

His stomach rolls as he hears about the founding of SHIELD, Zola’s recruitment, the birth and rise of the new Hydra. His hands curl into fists and his nails bite into his palms, a reminder of pain that tells him that this is not a dream. It is merely his new nightmare.

They all watch, stone faced, while Zola tells them about the true purpose of Project Insight. They learn about the algorithm, and how it is meant to target and kill people that could threaten Hydra’s agenda. 

And, through Zola’s final words, they realize they will be too dead to try and stop any of it.

★

Steve defies the odds.

He has done so his entire life.

He refused to die when sickness took him. He refused to die when war and bloodshed raged around him. He refused to die when that was all he wanted in the world.

The missile hits in an explosion of fire and broken glass and crumbling stones. A thick gray dust permeates the air, curling around with smoke so strong it stings Steve's nose.

Yet, here he is.

Yet, here they all are: Steve and Natasha and Clint, bruised up and dirty and aching, but with their hearts beating as anger burns deep in their hearts.

★

“Well, that was terrible.”

Steve manages to snort at Clint’s understatement. There is no humor it in, but it is better than the rage and despair that threaten to rise up and swallow him whole. He washes his hands like that will wash off the dread that pools in his gut.

“You know what we have to do,” Natasha says as she dries off her hair and sits down next to Clint, careful of the injury on her shoulder.

Steve swallows past the bitter lump in his throat. He does not look at himself in the mirror. His gaze is down to his hands, catching on the blood red string that leads him to a nightmare.

He knows what they have to do.

“It’s time,” Steve says, finally turning to face his friends.

There is no more hiding from this.

No matter how much Steve wishes he could.

Natasha gives him a smile that is as cold as the ice frozen around Steve’s heart. “Let’s find your soulmate.”

★

The red string leads them to a truth Steve would rather not know.

The knots and tangles that make his string take them to a bank, tall and imposing and well-guarded. Natasha stares at it from behind heart-shaped sunglasses, her hair up in a ponytail, and a faint smile on her lips.

“I take it this won’t be an issue,” Steve says, unable to keep himself from smirking through the pain in his heart.

“No, it won’t,” Natasha assures him, and then turns to Clint. “Remember Shanghai?”

Clint grins. “I love your brain.”

It is easy, in the end, and it is also the hardest thing Steve’s ever done.

With Steve pointing them in the right direction and Natasha and Clint doing what they do best, they soon find themselves walking down a long underground corridor.

At the end of it, a vault.

At the end of it, the truth that will shatter Steve’s heart.

★

They hide in the shadows.

The vault holds what is expected: money, secrets, and the Winter Soldier. Steve’s heart constricts in his chest at the sight of the other half of his soul, masked and armed, standing at attention. Their string is a knotted mess that wraps itself around their bodies and closes around their necks.

The Winter Soldier is not alone.

“Yes, sir,” Brock Rumlow speaks into a phone, a gun in hand and a mocking smile on his face. “I will send him to you, Mr. Secretary.”

Steve clenches his jaw. Beside him, Natasha and Clint freeze. It is merely confirmation of what they already suspected, but it still hits them to know that Hydra’s corruption runs this deep.

“Asset, you have orders,” Brock addresses the Winter Soldier after he hangs up the phone.

The Winter Soldier listens as Brock speaks, eyes void of expression behind the mask that hides his face. He merely nods his head when Brock asks him if he’s understood.

“You know what you need to do.” Brock pockets his phone, but doesn’t holster his gun. He keeps his fingers on the trigger as he leaves, never giving his back to the Soldier, until he’s out the door and out of sight.

Ten seconds tick by.

“You can come out now,” the Soldier says, and the sound of his voice breaks Steve’s heart.

★

“Bucky?” Steve breathes out, already walking forward before Natasha or Clint can extend a hand to stop him.

The Soldier tilts his head to the side, blue eyes so familiar now that Steve can see them up close. “Who the hell is Bucky?” the Soldier asks, brows furrowed in confusion.

And Steve, well.

Steve never thought he would be able to break again. He thought he’d left those pieces of himself behind in the snow, buried and lost forever.

Steve should know better. The world always finds new ways to make him hurt.

“How did you know we were here?” Natasha asks, gun at the ready, with Clint coming in behind her with his bow and arrow drawn.

“It’s him,” the Soldier says, eyes never leaving Steve’s. He raises his flesh hand and wiggles this little finger, as if he and Steve aren’t the only ones able to see the red string that ties their souls together. “He’s the one meant for me.”

Steve wants to scream.

“Can…” Steve tries to speak past the horror that gets stuck in his throat. “Can you take off your mask?”

The Soldier blinks, once, and then reaches for the clasp that secures the mask to his face. With a click, it comes off. With a click, Steve feels like he’s been shot.

Bucky stares back at him, blue eyes impassive and mouth hard. Just as Steve remembers him.

Steve ignores the sharp intake of breath from Clint and the low curse from Natasha.

Steve takes a step forward and is proud when his voice only shakes a little when he asks, “Do you know who I am?”

Bucky blinks, and then his mouth twitches up in a crooked smile. “I know you are mine.”

Between them, the first knot on their red string comes untangled.

★

Natasha takes charge. 

Steve would thank her for it, but he can’t find the words in himself. He feels untethered, lost, like he might float away and disappear if he dares open his mouth. There is terror building in his gut, so strong he thinks he’s going to break apart with it.

Because there he is: Bucky.

_Bucky_.

Bucky, alive and with Hydra, alive and without his arm, alive and…

Steve swallows past the bile that rises up his throat.

Bucky is here and Bucky doesn’t remember.

“You’re not leaving,” Natasha tells him, hands steady and eyes sharp, ready to shoot if Bucky dares to run.

Steve wants to move to stop her. Steve wants to move, but he is rooted to the floor as his past stands in front of him, haunting him not only in his dreams, but here, _now_.

“It’s not safe here,” Bucky says, staring at Natasha like she’s a particularly interesting puzzle.

“We’re not gonna let you walk away,” Clint tells him, ready to shoot if Natasha gives him a sign. “Whatever Rumlow and Pierce want you to do, we’ll stop you.”

“Bucky,” Steve finds his voice again, as rough as shattered glass, “please come with us.”

Bucky tilts his head to the side. “Is that my name? Bucky?”

Steve thought he knew pain. He’s lived with his entire life, one way or another, but this is more than he thinks he can bare. “That’s what I’ve always called you,” he answers, hands curled into fists so tight his nails cut into his palm. “Your full name is James Buchanan Barnes.”

“And I’m yours,” Bucky adds, like that has been a truth their entire lives, like that doesn’t stab Steve in his already bleeding heart and spills blood over his open wounds.

“You’re my soulmate,” Steve says in a tone of voice that sounds far away, detached from himself. “And I’m yours.”

Bucky’s eyes fall to the string that connects them, messy and knotted and so very red. Steve follows his gaze. Together, they see another knot untangle, a tiny piece of string falling smooth from their little finger.

“Okay,” Bucky says with resolve. “Where are we going?”

Steve lets out a breath, but he is not filled with relief.

Bucky is here and Bucky is _his _and Steve doesn’t know what to do.

★

“We need your help,” Steve says when Sam opens the door to his house.

Sam stares at them, two seconds that feel like hours, and steps aside to let them in. “I’m making breakfast.”

“Pancakes?” Clint perks up.

Steve follows Sam to the kitchen, but his attention is elsewhere. Bucky is a few steps behind him, face carefully blank and so familiar Steve fights the urge to reach out and touch him. He is silent when he walks, a ghost among the living, and Steve’s heart hurts with the knowledge that this is not a new facet of Bucky shaped by Hydra’s hands.

There is a reason Bucky is the best sniper Steve’s ever seen. He’s been hiding in the shadows for far longer than he’s been a prisoner of Hydra.

“You want to tell me what’s going on?” Sam asks Steve, glancing in Bucky’s direction.

Steve takes a deep breath and takes a leap of faith. “We need your help.”

Sam listens while Steve tells him about Hydra, SHIELD’S corruption, Zola’s face in Camp Leigh. Steve’s shoulder lose a bit of their tension the more he talks, secrets upon secrets being laid out in the open under Sam’s non judgemental gaze. His heart still trips inside of his chest when he speaks about Project Rebirth’s unintended consequence, the red strings, his… his soulmate.

Bucky’s brows twitch at a few points during Steve’s retelling, but aside from those minor movements, he stays perfectly still from his place leaning against Sam’s kitchen counter, glass of orange juice in hand.

Sam blinks once when he’s done, as if gathering his thoughts and then says, “I’ll help. I have one question first.”

“You have two soulmates,” Steve answers ahead of him with a sad and hopeful smile on his lips. 

Sam sucks in a deep breath “Riley…”

“Was one of them,” Steve confirms, and stands up so he can wrap an arm around Sam’s shoulder in support. “There is someone else, though.”

“Shit.” Sam snorts and scrubs a hand over his face. “_Shit_.”

“You are lucky,” Bucky says, the first time he’s spoken since they’ve arrived at Sam. Steve’s stomach clenches at the sound of his voice, wanting to hear more of it, always. “Not all of us are born with someone for ourselves.”

“You—” Sam starts, but Steve interrupts him.

“He’s mine,” Steve says, only half surprised at the fierceness behind his words. That hasn’t been true for most of their lives, but it doesn’t matter. Steve will rip his own heart out of his bleeding chest before leaving Bucky again. ”My soulmate.”

Sam’s eyes widen a little, and he glances at Natasha and Clint before he asks, “And who would that be?”

Bucky tilts his head to the side, gaze focused on Steve even while he answers Sam, “I’m Bucky Barnes.”

★

Sam has questions. He’s not the only one.

“What was your mission?” Natasha prompts after Clint and Sam are done eating breakfast.

“Eliminate any hostiles who opposed the success of Project Insight.”

“That’s clear enough,” Clint mumbles.

“They knew we’d be coming for them,” Steve says, eyes never leaving Bucky’s. “They didn’t know we’d be coming for _you_.”

Bucky’s lips twitch, a small and smug and sad thing. “They never knew about the things I could see. They never cared when they could wipe me after a mission.”

The lump in Steve’s throat tightens. “That’s why you don’t remember.”

_Me. Us. The war. Yourself_. _Your life_.

“They’ve done it to me once before,” Natasha says, voice trembling slightly. Clint grabs her hand in his. “Made me forget who I was, who I knew, the people I loved.”

“Is it permanent?” Sam asks, jaw clenched tight.

“No,” Natasha and Bucky answers at the same time.

Steve’s gaze is drawn to the string he and Bucky share, just in time to see another small knot slip loose.

★

“You used to be smaller,” Bucky says to Steve, gaze flickering over Steve’s broad shoulders and defined chest and down to his small waist.

Steve holds his breath and holds still, letting Bucky take him in as much as he wants, but finds it in himself to say, “Yes, I was.”

Bucky nods to himself, satisfied, and then frowns. “You used to be stubborn, too.”

Natasha is the one who lets out a small laugh that breaks the heavy silence of the room. “He still is.”

Bucky side-eyes Steve for a moment, before his expression once again turns blank. “I don’t remember much else.”

“That’s okay,” Steve says, even though it isn’t. Even though he doubts it will be anytime soon. 

“I suspect the longer you go without being wiped, the more you’ll remember,” Natasha tells them. “That’s how it was for me.”

“I’m sorry you had to go through that,” Bucky offers with little emotion.

“I’m sorry you did too,” Natasha whispers. “We’ve met before, you and I.”

Steve grits his teeth so hard he feels they might shatter. It’s only Sam placing a hand on his shoulder that keeps him from breaking down and raging.

Bucky stares at Natasha, hard and unflinching, until something flickers in his gaze. “Little spider.”

“You were a good teacher,” Natasha says with a heartbreaking smile. “Thank you for making sure I knew how to escape and knew how to survive.”

Clint’s sharp intake of breath matches Steve’s own.

“You’re welcome,” Bucky says with a tilt of his chin. “At least one of us managed to get away.”

Steve sways once in place, held up only by Sam’s hand on his shoulder as the meaning of Bucky’s words sink in. He’s tried to run before, to free himself from Hydra’s control, and failed.

Steve’s head spins and his lungs seize and the broken pieces of his heart get smashed to dust. He wants to scream again, to tear the world apart with his hands, to hurt each and every person guilty of harming Bucky.

Starting with himself.

If only Steve had jumped after him, had searched for him, had braved the snow and the Alps and his own anguish to find Bucky, then none of this would have happened.

There are voices around him, but Steve can’t make sense of them. He’s standing one minute and sliding down to the floor the next, knees folded against his chest and head hanging between them. There’s pressure against his side and a line of heat rubbing up and down his back, a soothing voice next to his ear, lips pressed to his temple.

“Breathe with me,” the voice says, breath ghosting over Steve’s skin. “C’mon, Steve. Breathe with me.”

Steve focuses on it, on the body huddled close to his own, and tries to match his breathing to theirs. This is a well known dance. Steve’s learned its steps when he was just a child, under his mother’s careful hands. It takes him only a minute to get himself under control, to push down the rage and panic and fear that wages war inside his mind.

“There you go,” Bucky soothes him, lips moving away from Steve’s temple so he can rest their foreheads together instead.

“Buck,” Steve rasps out. He curls a hand around Bucky’s metal wrist and pulls him closer. Their red strings fall like a pool of blood at their feet.

“It seems I remember more than I thought,” Bucky says, and then lifts his head up to face the room.

Steve glances up as well, and his bruised up soul heals a little when he sees Natasha, Clint, and Sam kneeling down in front of him. “I’m okay.”

“You’re not,” they all say in various tones of unamusement.

Steve snorts and clutches Bucky a little tighter. “I will be,” he says, and another tangled knot dissipates.

★

The doorbell rings.

Bucky tenses next to Steve just as Natasha and Clint go on high alert.

“I take it you’re not expecting anyone,” Sam says hesitantly.

“We’re not,” Natasha confirms, already slipping a hand inside her jacket to grab her gun from her shoulder holster. “Sam, we’ll cover you.”

“I can cover myself, but okay.”

Steve lets out a slow breath and stands up, Bucky at his side, and they get ready to fight whoever is at the door. Just like old times.

“Sam Wilson?” 

“Who’s asking?” Sam demands.

“Maria?” Natasha asks, still aiming her gun at the door.

“You’re hard people to find,” Maria says and unceremoniously body checks Sam and pushes her way inside of the apartment. Steve’s gaze snaps down to her little finger, to the red string wrapped around it that leads to—

Steve’s breath catches and then his eyes move to Sam.

Sam stops in his tracks right behind Maria, catching Steve’s gaze, and his expression twitches in understanding. “Her?” he asks, voice wearing a little and cracking at the end of the question.

Steve nods his head.

“Congratulations on finding who you were looking for,” Bucky says, words laced with meaning, and that drags Maria’s attention to him.

Maria’s eyes widen when she catches sight of his mental arm, and a second later she has her own gun in hand and ready to shoot. “Don’t move.”

Steve is in front of Bucky before he can think twice. His hands reach for his shield, and he has a second to yell at himself for leaving it in the kitchen before Natasha steps in front of them.

“Drop the gun, Maria,” Natasha says with an even tone that leaves no room for discussion.

“Do you know who he is?” Maria hisses. “Why are you _protecting him_?”

“He’s like me,” Natasha tells her. “He’s the one who helped me leave the Red Room.”

Maria’s jaw ticks, but her aim doesn’t waver. “He’s a murderer.”

“So are we,” Steve throws back, muscles tense. He knows that if he needs to, he can cause enough of a distraction to take Bucky and run.

“Maria, look at him,” Clint says softly. “Really look at him and see if he doesn’t remind you of someone.”

Maria blinks and stares hard at Bucky’s face, who’s now standing by Steve’s left, metal arm raised in a protective stance, his right hand clutching at the back of Steve’s shirt. Maria blinks and her mouth goes slack. “Is that…?” she asks.

Bucky lowers his arm and gives her a two finger salute. “I’m Bucky.”

Maria snaps her mouth shut. “Well,” she says after a few tense seconds of silence. “Fury’s going to love this.”

★

Steve is torn between anger and relief. Fury sits in front of them, alive and breathing and as infuriating as always, eyeing Bucky with an expression that is an equal mix of distrust and interest.

“Sorry I tried to kill you,” Bucky says after Natasha convinces Fury not to shoot Bucky on sight.

“Forgive me if I don’t express my gratitude,” Fury answers dryly.

Steve wonders if he’s having a stroke.

Clint and Sam look like they’re fighting laughter themselves while Natasha stares at the ceiling as if asking for strength. Maria is the one who gets them back on track with the harsh reminder that SHIELD is compromised and how HYDRA plans to use the helicarriers to assassinate people. Sam stares at her with a mixture of sadness and awe on his face. Whatever happens to them, Steve hopes they find happiness.

“We have to stop the launch,” Natasha says, lips pressed thin.

Sam crosses his arms over his chest. “Do you have a plan?”

“We need to breach those carriers and replace their targeting blades with our own,” Fury explains. “This is the only way we can salvage what’s left of—”

“We’re not salvaging anything,” Steve cuts him off. “We’re ending this. We’re taking down SHIELD.”

Peggy’s dream.

Bucky’s prison.

It all goes.

★

“I can help,” Bucky offers after Steve and Fury are done arguing about what’s to be done.

Steve closes his eyes as the knife buried in his heart twists at Bucky’s words. “Buck…”

Bucky narrows his eyes at him. “I _will_ help. You can’t stop me.”

Steve clenches his jaw and pushes down the despair that makes his stomach churn. He doesn’t want Bucky to fight, but he’d never stop him from making a choice of his own. Steve will just have to deal with his own fear of losing Bucky. He is practiced at it, after all.

“‘Til the end of the line,” is what Steve says instead, ignoring the sharp glances from the others when he’s pinned under Bucky’s gaze.

Bucky twitches once, forehead wrinkling before it smooths out again. He stands up slowly and walks to Steve, hand coming to rest at the base of Steve’s neck, right where their string loops around once.

“You weren’t mine,” Bucky says, voice so low only Steve can hear him. “Before.”

“I wasn’t.” Steve wraps his hand around Bucky’s wrist, thumb resting over his pulse point. “Not like this.”

Bucky smiles, a little quirk of his lips, and bumps their foreheads together. “I’m glad you found me.”

“Me too, Bucky,” Steve chokes out and pulls Bucky into a hug. “Me too.”

★

The plan is simple. With the kind of intel Bucky can provide on active Hydra operatives as his memories slowly get better, they’re able to figure out how to get to the helicarriers with minimal amount of bloodshed. 

Steve and Clint are in charge of replacing the blades while Maria and Sam give them cover. Natasha, master of disguises, will go after Pierce with Fury. Bucky insists on being with them.

“He did this to me.” Bucky curls and uncurls his metal hand into a tight fist. “I want a shot at him.”

“You can have two,” Fury promises him.

Steve bites the inside of his cheek. He wishes he was going after Pierce too, so he could wrap his hands around Pierce’s neck and snap him in two. But that is not his place. That is not where he is needed, so Steve will let Bucky take revenge for himself and the things that were done to him. It wouldn’t be fair of him to take that from Bucky too.

Maria gets them inside SHIELD through threats instead of violence. Steve is not above leaning against the image of Captain America, war hero, to get people to back off. At least the shield and uniform are useful for something, when they couldn’t even hack saving the one person that means the most to Steve.

Steve watches Bucky, Natasha, and Fury turn right to one of the elevators that will lead them to Pierce’s office. He stops himself from following, from running after Bucky like he wants to, from grabbing him by the wrist and dragging him some place where they are both safe and away from this mess. 

Instead, Steve’s eyes turn to the string around his finger. 

It’ll let him know if something goes wrong.

It’ll let him know if he needs to put his shield down in favor of a gun and shoot the enemy between the eyes.

“C’mon, Steve.” Clint claps him on the shoulder, eyes serious and determined. “They’ll be fine. Between Nat and your guy, we don’t have to worry.”

Steve swallows hard and nods once. They’ve got work to do.

★

“Well, well, well, if it isn’t the good Captain.”

Steve’s hand curls around the strap of his shield just as his muscles go tight. Clint stands a step behind him. Rumlow smiles at both of them from his place guarding the helicarrier target blades, hand loose on a rifle but yet still ready to take aim. 

“You don’t want to fight me,” Steve warns him. There’s rage bubbling inside of him, coursing through his veins and filling up his lungs. Rumlow is Hydra and Rumlow hurt Bucky. If he chooses to fight, Steve won’t hesitate to kill him. To make him pay.

Lucky for him, Rumlow’s arrogance helps him along.

Rumlow’s smile widens. “You don’t stand a chance, Cap. If you cut off one he—”

Steve doesn’t want for him to finish. He throws his shield at Rumlow’s head at the same time Clint lets an arrow fly in his direction. Rumlow ducks away from the shield, aiming his rifle high and shooting at them, but he’s not fast enough to avoid Clint’s arrow from running through his thigh.

Steve is charging him before Rumlow can get his bearings again, his lips pulled back in a snarl and shield raised above his head.

The sound and sight of it are familiar. Steve’s heard it and seen it enough times on the battlefields, in between shots and bombings and the Howlies yelling next to him. The sickening crunch of bones giving and snapping and breaking under the sharp edge of vibranium and Steve’s strength. The warm color of blood, darker than the red of Steve’s shield, staining the metal and pooling at his feet. The surprised look on the enemy’s face, as if Captain America was too pure, too moral, too _honest_ to ever brutally murder another human being.

Steve might have been, once. But being Captain America taught him otherwise.

All Steve feels when he sees Rumlow’s crushed throat is a deep sense of satisfaction that he won’t be hurting anyone ever again. Cut off one head and they’re dead.

“Steve,” Clint calls out to him. His face is a little pale when Steve turns to him, but all he does is offer Steve a sharp nod. “We need to get moving.”

Steve takes his target blades and runs through the metal bridges that make up the inside of the helicarrier. He can hear shooting down below and, if he focuses hard enough, he can see the red and silver of Sam’s wings as he flies.

“Ready for the exchange,” Steve warns the team through the comms.

“Run into any trouble?” Maria asks.

“Nothing we couldn’t take care of,” Steve replies, mind going back to Rumlow.

“Move your ass and come help us here, then!” Sam replies, voice drawn own by the wind and shooting. “I’m getting bored of shooting bad guys by myself.”

“Want me to target practice with your wings?” Maria suggests, sounding way too upbeat for the situation they’re in. “That should make things interesting.”

“I’m missing all the fun,” Clint whines, but his voice turns serious once he snaps Fury’s target blade in place. “One down.”

Steve throws Clint the second blade while he takes care of the last one. “All three?” he asks Clint.

“All three,” Clint confirms. “Helicarriers are secure.”

Steve breathes a sigh of relief.

And that’s when the explosions start.

★

“Fuck you, Hydra,” Clint grunts as they run, jumping past broken glass and fallen metal beams, trying to get away from the explosives hidden around the helicarrier. “Fuck you so hard.”

Steve shakes his head. Of course Hydra would have a new plan in place in case their original one fell through. A new plan to cause maximum destruction.

“Sam, we’re gonna need your help,” Steve says through the comms, eyes scanning the windows surrounding every side of the helicarrier. “I need you to catch us.”

“You need to _what_?” Sam yells, though Steve can already see him fly in their direction.

“Aw, jumping,” Clint sighs. He doesn’t stop running. “If I die, tell Nat I love her.”

“We’re not going to die,” Steve promises. He hasn’t, even when he wished to, and now he has something to live for. He’s going to make it even if it kills him.

Steve throws the shield at the glass. Little pieces bite and cut into his and Clint’s skins when they jump off, the cold wind harsh against their faces, but it’s better than the fire that starts consuming the helicarriers. Sam catches Steve by his shield harness and Clint by his belt, wings working in overtime to keep the three of them from crashing through the ground.

“Why do you weigh so fucking _much_,” Sam says through gritted teeth.

Steve laughs despite himself. “I had a big breakfast.”

★

Steve’s off running as soon as his feet touch the ground.

Most of Hydra disbands after seeing the helicarrier on fire, with only a few agents left on the hanger under the certain aim of Maria’s weapon. They have nowhere to run now. Not where they can’t be found.

Steve’s mission is different, though. While Sam and Clint and Maria capture the last remains of Hydra still trying to fight them, Steve follows the string tied around his finger and runs to Bucky.

The red is still red, pulsing and bright and _alive_, which means Bucky is still breathing. Steve holds on to that thought while he runs, dispatching Hydra agents that try to stop him, not caring about the blood staining his hands.

Steve’s heart trips inside his chest when he catches sight of Bucky. His metal arm gleams under Pierce’s office lights, but it holds steady, like the gun Bucky has aimed right at Pierce’s head. There’s a red bruise on Bucky’s cheek and his hair falls in a mess around his face, but that’s the only evidence that he’s been in a fight at all.

Fury is standing in front of Pierce, saying something Steve doesn’t care to hear, while Natasha types away at one of the computers. Steve smiles to himself. It’s all going according to plan, then. 

Even more so when Bucky moves his gun and shoots Pierce through his left shoulder, lips twitching up in a small smile. “One,” Bucky says, and then turns to stare at Steve. “Hey.”

Steve’s smile widens. “Hi. I see you don’t need my help.”

Bucky shrugs while Fury and Natasha roll their eyes.

“Clint?” is all Natasha asks.

“He’s good,” Steve says, and then explains to them that the helicarriers were rigged to blow as soon as they’d been tampered with.

“You won’t destroy us,” Pierce spits out. “You cut off one hea—”

A shoot rings out. Pierce gurgles as blood spills past his lips, his hands coming to clutch at his throat.

“Two,” Bucky says, and then lowers his gun.

Fury raises an eyebrow at him and then crounches next to Pierce, whispering something to him. Steve doesn’t pay attention. Instead, he focuses on Bucky as he comes closer. Bucky eyes him from head to toe, taking in the blood and cuts and bruises, and then hooks his pinky through Steve’s own, their red strings wrapping together.

Steve shivers at the touch, and a little broken piece of his soul heals itself together.

“Rumlow?” Bucky asks in a low voice.

“Dead,” Steve answers, hand briefly curling into a fist at the thought of his smiling face.

Yet Bucky’s own smile, slowly edging across his face, is enough to erase all thoughts of someone else.

“Good,” Bucky murmurs, and then takes one step closer, until they’re chest to chest and he can bump his forehead against Steve’s. “This isn’t over yet.”

“No,” Steve agrees. Natasha is currently dumping all of SHIELD’s files on the internet, bringing to light the corruption and Hydra’s plans for the world. The fallout will be big and, Steve knows, they’ll all have something to answer for.

“But you’ll stay with me,” Bucky says, nuzzling their noses together.

“Yes,” Steve promises. He brings their hands up and presses his lips to Bucky’s little finger, the red string under his lips. “‘Til the end of the line.”

Under their joint hands, more tangled knots slip free.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> \- **depressed steve**: in line with canon deleted scenes of steve being in a bad place mentally after waking up in the future and feeling alone and adrift.  
\- **suicidal ideation**: there are repeated mentions of steve wishing he would have died when he crashed plane and wishing he wasn't alive in the future.  
\- **steve has panic attacks**: steve has one panic attack that is briefly described and stopped.


	2. BOUND

Steve thinks he knows what he is signing up for when Dr. Erskine tells him about Project Rebirth.

He doesn’t, not at all.

But he realizes, as soon as he opens his eyes, seventy-three years in the future, and sees Bucky curled up against his chest with a sleepy smile and bedhead, that it doesn’t matter.

It has lead him to _this_.

★

The past year hasn’t been easy. 

Not for any of them.

Natasha and Clint, all covers blown, have stopped hiding. Seeing Natasha as one of the public faces in the fight against terrorism is strange to Steve, but it fits. She’s good at weaving webs and catching prey, and public officials are more than willing to let her take this mess off their hands. Clint, with his honest lying face and circus tricks, is more than qualified to help. They’re both as happy as former spies can be. They even sent Steve a card from Budapest last month.

Sam and Maria are hanging around in DC. Sam at the VA, Maria doing security work, both of them getting to know each other. Maria knows, now, about the red strings. She was not impressed, but willing to give Sam a chance.

Fury… well, Fury is Fury. It takes its toll on someone, betrayal, and Fury has experienced more than his fair share of it. Steve can’t say he likes him, not really, but a man deserves peace of mind. Steve hopes he gets it.

Steve knows he has, or something close to it.

★

The past year hasn’t been easy. 

Not for any of them.

Not for Steve, but definitely not for Bucky. 

SHIELD files made sure the world knew what had become of Steve’s heart after it fell off a train in Austria, and they had been eager to lay blame at Bucky’s feet for Hydra’s evil. Steve, not a stranger to the feeling of wanting to tear the world apart if it meant protecting Bucky, let them know in no uncertain terms that that would be unacceptable. With Natasha, Clint, Sam, Maria, and Fury standing behind him, Bucky never went to trial.

Yet the struggle didn’t end there. 

The memories, as bloody and as violent and as painful as they come, resurface the longer Bucky stays out of cryo. The nightmares, the panic attacks, the rage — they come for both of them. It all rushes to the surface and makes itself a familiar facet of their lives. But they fight, like they always have: together.

And now, with them sharing a bed in Steve’s new apartment, with the sun shining on their socked feet and Bucky’s warmth pressed tight against his own body, Steve lets himself breathe. They’ve made it, even when they wish they hadn’t. They survived, and now they get to _live_. And the world, for once, decided to be kind to them in return.

Yes, there are still nightmares. Yes, they both still struggle. Yes, they’re both seeking treatment for the horrors they’ve been through and done. But they do it with the knowledge they will always have each other to lean on and turn to.

And that, for Steve, is the most precious gift he could’ve received.

★

“Why do you think,” Bucky murmurs, lips brushing against the edge of Steve’s jaw, “you weren’t mine before?”

Steve turns his head, nose buried in the sweet smelling strands of Bucky’s hair, and holds him closer. “I’ve always been yours,” he answers, because he now knows in his heart what their strings took too long to understand.

“Steve,” Bucky sighs and pulls back. His eyes are clear blue-grey and bright, but the weight of what they’ve both been through still shines through his gaze.

“We were different people,” Steve says, glancing down at the red string tied around their little fingers. It’s mostly smooth now, save for a few tangled knots in the middle. “We weren’t who we were meant to be for each other, not yet.”

It is a difficult truth to accept and Steve wonders when the thought of it will stop leaving a bad taste in his mouth. 

Bucky hums low in his throat. “You were too much of a reckless idiot back then,” he says, decades of memories in his knowing tone.

For Bucky, the bad memories came back, yes, but some good came along with it too. Summer afternoons in Brooklyn, the taste of candy from Coney Island, the apartment they shared after Steve’s Ma passed. It brought back Bucky’s family, the Howlies, _Steve_. It gave him sorrow, yes, but it also reminded him of love.

Steve shakes his head at Bucky, charmed by the glint in Bucky’s eyes as Bucky stares up at him. “I was naive,” Steve admits. “But it was who I needed to be back then. The person I am now, the man I’ve become, is different from that Brooklyn kid who didn’t know when to run away from a fight.”

Steve knows it now. He’s learned to leave the cracked knuckles and purple bruises and spilling blood behind. Not a hard decision to make. He’s been at war his whole life. It is well past time for him to rest. And now he gets to do it with Bucky by his side, sharing his bed, while they enjoy life away from the violence that shaped them.

“You still don’t,” Bucky points out. He leans in and presses his nose to Steve’s neck, breathing him in. “You fought for me.”

“That’s not something I’d ever run away _from_, Buck,” Steve promises. “When it comes to you, I’ll always rush in.”

Bucky smiles, a slow little curl of his lips that sends Steve’s heart stripping inside his chest. “Always knew you were a dumb idiot.”

“What’s it say about you, who love me?” Steve asks, stealing a kiss from Bucky’s upturned lips. “You, my _soulmate_?”

“That I’m also dumb as hell,” Bucky answers and pulls Steve down for another deep kiss. “I wouldn’t want anyone else,” he says when they break the kiss, his hands cupped around Steve’s face. “Even when I didn’t know you, I knew that.”

Steve closes his eyes and rests their foreheads together. It’s been a long journey. Almost a hundred years of it. Yet here they are. Bruised and battered and a little worse for wear, but _here_.

“I love you,” Steve says, not for the first time, but with the weight of their lifetime behind it. “I love you. Then and now.”

“Then and now,” Bucky repeats, brushing his mouth against Steve’s as if to seal a promise, “and always.”

★

Steve thinks he knows what he is signing up for when Dr. Erskine tells him about Project Rebirth.

He doesn’t, not at all.

But he realizes, as soon as he opens his eyes, seventy-three years in the future, and sees Bucky smiling up at him, cheeks flushed and mouth red and eyes crinkled at the corners, that it doesn’t matter.

It has lead him to _this_.

To _Bucky_.

Time and time again.

And there is not a single piece of Steve’s soul that regrets that decision.

**Author's Note:**

> you can find me on: [twitter](https://twitter.com/wearing_tearing), [dreamdwith](https://wearing-tearing.dreamwidth.org/), and [tumblr](http://hawkguyz.tumblr.com/) ~


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